


How to Unbreak

by edwardnashtons (freckledandspectacled), freckledandspectacled



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Kinda, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mind Control, Mutual Pining, Rough Sex, Season 5 AU, Slow Burn, Spanking, and it's very briefly mentioned but worth warning for, season 5, the dubious consent is only regarding the first time Edward and Tank do the do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-16 04:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/edwardnashtons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Edward Nygma is struggling to understand himself, but solving the mystery of what's happening to him while he sleeps is a far less difficult task to focus on when compared to answering the question of what it is he truly wants.





	1. Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is currently already well over 10k and probably only halfway done, so I decided to begin posting chapters. After 5x05, this will probably begin ignoring canon, but we'll see when I get there.

Most people would not be thrilled to wake up chained to a table, but most people were not Edward Nygma. He was giddy, ecstatic, practically skipping to the toilet. With smug satisfaction he undid his zipper and congratulated himself in the mirror. Then he heard it. A low groaning, coming from his shower. 

_No_.

Not his shower. It was all in his head. 

But… just to be sure…

He pulled back the curtain, stared for a moment to see if the image before him might go away, and promptly pulled the curtain shut again. 

“There’s nothing there,” he told himself, smiling nervously into the mirror. A giggle bubbled up from his throat as he shook his head in disbelief. The noises from the shower intensified. Apparently, his guest was cognizant enough to realize he was there. Well, that was rather embarrassing. Edward’s lips thinned as he tucked himself back into his pants, hoping the man tied up in his shower hadn’t seen too much. Moments later, now armed with a plunger, Edward ripped the curtain back again. Cautiously, he reached out and pulled the duck tape from the man’s mouth. Though he was crammed into the tub somehow, upon closer inspection Edward could see that the man was much larger than he was. If he wanted to hurt Edward, he certainly could. Right now, the only thing stopping him was a knotted rope, whose configuration he thought he might recognize from a Stocks and Bondage magazine he’d once perused.

“Who the hell are you?” Edward asked. He probably should have made an effort to seem more collected, but he was under quite a bit of stress and had probably only slept a few hours, judging by the height of the candles he kept burning in the library at all times. He could no longer stop the shakiness in his voice and limbs, even if he _had_ been focusing on keeping himself under control. 

“What? Are you serious?” the man calmly asked. Judging by his position and the amount of injuries on his person, Edward wondered why it was he appeared to be so serene. Maybe Edward wasn’t the one who’d attacked him?

“Very,” Edward replied, face contorting into a grimace as he tried to convey just how serious he really was.

“You don’t remember?” the man asked, his face almost… imploring?

“No,” he said, patience wearing thin. He wanted an explanation and he wanted it now. But how to get it? 

“Name’s Tank,” the man said. Edward gave him another once-over, reaching out and touching a patch on his vest. 

“You’re part of the Street Demons gang?”

“Yeah,” Tank replied, nodding. “You know that.”

“Why should I?” Edward asked, glad to finally be getting _somewhere_ with this conversation. He crouched down a bit, meeting Tank face-to-face. “What are you doing here?”

“You brought me here,” Tank said, leaning forward. 

“I brought you here?” Edward whispered, moving away. He was still processing the fact that his plan had failed as the man continued speaking.

“Last night.” Edward stood, thinking through the pieces he had at hand.

“Did I, uh… hit you, etcetera?” he asked, feeling almost sympathetic as he surveyed the damage to the other man he might have caused. Tank rolled his eyes. Okay, so he’d _definitely_ caused the injuries he was observing. “Any idea why?”

“You wanted information,” Tank said, inhaling sharply, “And I wouldn’t give it to you.” He glanced aside, and Ed crouched again, licking his lips as he considered the evidence before him. Once again, he leaned in to meet him face-to-face.

“I’m gonna guess you gave it to me,” Edward stated, trying to maintain a tough façade. Tank glanced away again before releasing a small huff of laughter.

“Oh, I gave it to you alright. That, and more.”

“Now just what exactly do you mean by _that?_ ” Edward demanded. What was he _doing_ last night? He’d only ever woken up in strange places before. This was the only evidence, the _only_ indication that maybe there was some rhyme or reason to his nightly wanderings. Some sort of plan and not just meaningless sleepwalking.

“I could show you?” His lips twisted into a grin, a suggestive spark in his eyes as he offered his bound hands up. Edward frowned severely and backed away.

“I don’t think so.” Instead, Edward grabbed him and hauled him out of the tub. “I’d rather just torture you again and find out.”

***

Edward swung the monkey wrench into his face, hard. Tank groaned, slowly lifting his face.

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” he said, face shining red with blood, “you wanted to know where the Street Demons’ base was.”

“That’s it?” Edward asked. No, there had to be more.

“ _And_ you wanted to be sure the boss would be there,” he elaborated, his swollen eye twitching. 

“Emmanuel Vasquez?” Edward asked. He was a little behind, but last he checked Vasquez was the current leader. He hadn’t had to worry about it in years, not since Oswald—no. Focus.

“Yeah,” Tank confirmed, speaking slowly. Edward ignored the look on his face, the one he used to get from his teachers for asking questions they clearly considered ‘stupid’. Now he knew what it was he wanted, but who exactly was it that had tortured this man to find out?

“Okay, how did I seem?” Edward asked. Maybe he could narrow it down to either personality, at least. 

“Was I… confident, flamboyant? Charisma for days?” he asked, chin up as he struck various poses, the wrench jingling in his hand. He relaxed, bowing his head again. “Or a little more conservative, kinda repressed, a little nerdy?”

“You were pretty needy, a little bossy at first… until we got into it,” Tank described, smirking. Edward pointed the wrench at him.

“Stop it, _stop_.” Nothing like that had happened, he would’ve remembered that. It wasn’t often he found himself attracted to men—no, actually, that was an understatement. What was telling was that despite the frequency of his attractions, he had never even so much as _kissed_ another man. He would _know_. 

“You really don’t remember, huh?” Tank said, leaning back in the chair. “And here I thought I’d made an impression.” 

“Shut _up_ about that,” Edward snapped. “Answer the question!”

“Fine,” Tank replied. “You seemed stiff, man of few words. In a… daze, actually.”

“Interesting…” Man of few words… this just didn’t seem like him at all. Any of him. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Where?” Tank asked, shifting nervously in the chair.

“To where you told me to go. To the Street Demons’ base. To Vasquez,” Edward said, undoing his bonds. “I want to know why I went there.”

***

Edward was left with more questions than answers. Had he slaughtered the Street Demons alone? It seemed unlikely, especially when there was hardly a scratch on him. Maybe he was getting the information for someone else, but who? For Oswald? No, Oswald wasn’t the type to spray-paint his name alongside his crimes, or ask someone else to. That was Edward’s schtick. Someone who was trying to set Oswald up, then? Tank had said that whoever was responsible had just started a war, and he was right. But for what purpose? Or maybe this was all _his_ plan, and Edward was the one going after Oswald without even knowing it.

There were too many variables, too many possibilities. He needed more information, needed to know what he was doing, if it even _was_ him. Maybe… maybe there was another way to reclaim his memories of what he was doing with Tank last night. He was just going to have to ask very, very nicely. 

“Come on,” Edward said, putting his gun in his pants. “You look like hell.”

“And whose fault is that?” Tank asked, trailing after him. Edward wasn’t nervous. He’d had his back turned to him before and Tank had yet to make a move. Perhaps there was some truth to his insinuations that he and Ed had relations other than those strictly related to torturer/torturee activities. 

“Well, half of it is certainly mine, but you could have chosen to cooperate this morning,” Edward said, shrugging. 

“Or you could have _not_ tortured me?” Tank pointed out. Edward shrugged. 

“I have some first aid supplies, food, and you’re familiar with the shower,” Edward began, looking over his shoulder. Having sex with Tank again wouldn’t be so bad if his eye was a little less swollen. He was admittedly attractive, under all the bruising. 

“We’re going back?” Tank asked, halting.

“Yes,” Edward said, understanding his hesitation. Perhaps he was worried Edward would hogtie him in the bathtub again and repeat the whole process. “You’ve been cooperative, and I need some help. Would you rather stick with me, or go tell your friends how Vasquez ended up dead because of you?”

Tank started walking again.

***

Edward dabbed antiseptic over his wounds, ignoring Tank’s hisses at the feeling. He finished mopping the blood from his face and handed him an ice pack to hold over his eye. While he did, Edward finished with the rest of the wounds on his torso, taking his time with these. Tank was seated, and while it had made sense for Edward to stand while he tended to his facial wounds, he now sunk down into the man’s lap, straddling his thighs. Edward was slow in his ministrations, using the fingers of his free hand to stroke Tank’s bicep while he wiped the blood from it with the other.

Memory and situation were linked. If he could recreate a situation that had happened with Tank the night before, he might be able to remember more of the context. He’d already tortured the man, and he still had no memory of doing that previously. There was only one other thing that Tank seemed insistent on having occurred.

“Feeling any better?” Edward softly inquired, fingers running along the inside of Tank’s arm. He could see why that was his name, the man was certainly built like one. His biceps were larger in diameter than Edward’s _thigh_. 

“A little,” Tank said, watching him closely. “Do you remember… anything else?”

“No,” Edward said, lifting a hand to trail his fingers across the good side of Tank’s face. “It’s too bad.”

“Yeah,” Tank breathed, a hand coming up to rest on Edward’s thigh, his thumb stroking over the material of his pants. Edward ignored it, moving on to his other arm. He shifted in Tank’s lap, moving closer. Tank huffed, fingers clenching on his thigh. “Too bad.”

“So, I take it that aside from torturing you, I had some other fun,” Edward said, his eyes never wavering from Tank’s shoulder. 

“Seemed to me like you did,” Tank said. “Of course, that would have been up to you to decide.” Edward hummed.

“I suppose you’re right.” He put away the first aid supplies, taking the ice pack from Tank. The swelling was already improved, he noted, placing it on top of the kit. When he was done, he wound his arms around Tank’s shoulders, scooting closer in his lap. With both hands free, Tank placed the other on the small of his back, drawing him in tighter. Edward smirked. He leaned in until his nose was right alongside Tank’s, his lips within kissing distance. He whispered, so close he knew that Tank could feel the warmth of his breath, just like Edward felt his, “Whatever you did to me last night…”

“Do it _again_.”

***

In the aftermath, he began to sort his memories. Tank was asleep on the couch, leaving Edward on the thin bed, chains dangling from the sides. There was no room for two men of their size, though it had provided a sturdy surface for… well. His thighs were still shaking, but he needed to clean up. Edward hadn’t exactly seen the need to ensure he had condoms when he’d woken. Things like food, shelter, and clean water had been the priority. Consequently, Tank had made a mess of him. Maybe a bath would be a good idea. He stood, taking his afghan from where it had fallen on the floor and placing it back on the bed. He gathered his clothes, setting them out on the bed to wear when he was finished. He’d washed them a few days ago and they were remarkably devoid of blood, considering his… _activities_ with Tank. The lack of evidence made him wonder again at how he could have taken the Street Demons himself without even a spattering to show for it. Whoever had killed them, Edward couldn’t have been too active a participant. 

Edward fetched a towel and laid it on the toilet seat, rinsing the blood and other dirt from the bath and then filling it with water. As he waited, he observed himself in the mirror. 

His neck was unmarked as it had been this morning, but beneath where his collar usually laid was a smattering of bites and bruises. Tank evidently was not a neck man. Edward’s pecs were covered in rings from teeth, a pattern that continued down his stomach. Some were older, and some Edward could remember quite clearly, as they’d happened within the hour. His hips had bruises like handprints on either side, more obscured now than they had been when he’d first seen them. Now they were mottled with a combination from today and last night. 

Edward met his eyes in the mirror and pushed up his glasses, turning and descending into the tub. He kept his face above water and spread his legs, taking account of the old and fresh bite marks that adorned the insides of his thighs. If he’d had any doubts about Tank’s sincerity regarding his account of what they’d done last night, those marks had eliminated them. Edward pulled off his glasses and placed them on the sill, sinking down under the water. He pushed a hand through his hair, slicking it back as he rose. Reaching between his legs, he gently cleaned himself, sighing as he recalled their encounter…

_Tank rose from the chair and carried Edward with him, strong hands keeping Edward’s thighs around his hips. It was like he weighed nothing as the man made a beeline for his makeshift bed. He threw Edward down and wasted no time tearing his clothes off, Edward scrambling to help but mostly getting in the way. Despite the situation being totally new to him, he also had the knowledge that he’d already done quite well at it. Why else would Tank want to have him again? It made Edward eager to experience whatever it was his sleepwalking self already had, bypassing some of the anxieties he may have felt had this truly been the first time. He could focus on what he was feeling… and whether he could remember the last time they’d done this._

_The other man devoured his chest as he unbuttoned his shirt, Edward peering down at him. Though it shouldn’t have come as a shock, he was still surprised to see an array of telling marks all over his chest and stomach that could not have occurred from anything but this. Tank hastily removed Edward’s pants and underwear, dragging them down to his shoes and pulling those off when they got in the way. He kissed and bit his way between Edward’s thighs, and then Edward jumped as he felt the heat of his mouth envelop his cock._

_“Oh dear.” Edward’s patience hadn’t lasted long after that. He’d pushed his own fingers into his mouth before slipping them inside himself, marveling at how easy it was. He supposed it hadn’t been too long ago that something much larger had stretched him. His stomach tensed as Tank sucked around the head of his cock, moaning loudly._

_“Are you going to come?” Tank asked, wrapping a hand around him and continuing to stroke him. Edward felt himself tense again, clenching down around his fingers and thrusting into Tank’s hand._

_“M-maybe,” he panted, letting out a long moan as Tank took him into his mouth again. “Oh, fuck me.”_

_“Yeah?” Tank asked, pausing and then continuing to blow him._

_“Fuck me,” Edward cried, scissoring his fingers. Tank ignored him, speeding up his hand and licking over his slit. Edward fisted a hand in his long hair and pulled him off. “Fuck me, I’m serious.”_

_“You want me to fuck you?” Tank asked, his hand still stroking over Edward’s slick cock. He whined and pushed into it, but it wasn’t enough._

_“Yes,” Edward insisted, pulling his fingers free and cupping Tank through his tight leather pants. “Please.”_

_Tank had wasted no time pulling his cock through his fly, spitting on it before he began stroking himself. His cock was large, thick, and pierced. If they had time later, Edward wanted to know how that little ball of metal at the tip of his cock would taste on his tongue. Would he like it more if Edward teased the end that rested under the head of his cock? Edward wet three of his fingers again and tried to slick his entrance in preparation as Tank’s cock swelled in his hand. Lube was another commodity he hadn’t foreseen requiring. But they’d done without last time and he’d been fine, so hopefully Tank would be as gentle this time. Tank leaned down, pulling Edward’s hand away and spitting on his hole. His lips and tongue followed, delving inside and licking over him. Edward whined and squirmed, hands twisting in Tank’s hair and trying to pull him deeper. “Oh my god, fuck me. Fuck me.”_

_Tank stood, pressing his fingers against Edward’s lips. Edward paused a moment in confusion before realizing what he wanted, opening his mouth and taking them inside. He did his best to wet Tank’s fingers as thoroughly as he could with lips and tongue, pleased when Tank pulled his fingers free and a string of saliva still connected them to his lips. It broke over his stomach, leaving a trail down his chin and chest. Tank’s callused fingers entered him all at once, pumping quickly inside him. Edward keened and dragged his nails over the back of Tank’s vest, delighting at how amazing it felt to have someone else’s fingers inside of him._

_“Your ass is still so fucking tight,” Tank said, sounding almost reverent. “Hold on a sec.”_

_He went into a nearby cabinet, and to Edward’s utter shock he removed a bottle of lubricant, pouring it over his hand. So he did have some on hand. Edward jolted at the cold as Tank shoved his fingers back inside, perfunctorily preparing him. He slicked his cock just as quickly, only taking a moment to play with the piercing at the head. Then Tank withdrew and put his hands on Edward’s hips, right over the finger-shaped bruises that already marked him._

_“Fuck me,” Edward whispered, and he did. Fingers pressed hard into his hips as Tank shoved into him, splitting him apart on his cock. Edward yelped and wondered why he’d done this when it felt so bad, digging his nails punishingly hard into the other man’s forearms. He looked down at the meeting of their bodies, the other man’s length pushing brutally inside of him with no indication that he was going to slow his pace. Even if he closed his eyes, he could still hear every filthy sound that was made each time Tank bottomed out in his ass, filling him way past the limit of what Edward previously thought he could take. Whimpering, he licked his palm and wrapped it around his softening cock. To think he’d asked for this when he’d nearly come in the other man’s mouth…_

_Tank glanced up at the motion and smirked, tilting Edward’s hips father back as he thrust into him. The change was immediate, a high-pitched moan escaping him before he could even think to bite it back. Now this, this wasn’t bad at all. It felt good, it felt so fucking good—_

_“Yeah, baby?” Tank asked, and Edward realized he’d voiced his thoughts aloud. “You like having my cock in your ass?”_

_“Fuck,” Edward whimpered, the only response he could manage. He could feel how he’d relaxed around the intrusion now, how tense he’d been to begin with in comparison. That’s what had hurt. Now every thrust inside of him felt slick and smooth and so good he didn’t ever want this to end, even as he felt his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach. Tank’s fingers tightened on his hips and he thrust into him so perfectly Edward’s whole body tingled with it, thighs clenching around his hips and toes curling._

_That’s when he remembered._

_The Street Demon had pushed him face first into the mattress and fucked him to a screaming conclusion, Edward’s thighs slick with lube and come as the other man pulled out. The Street Demon had slept, still fully clothed. Edward did not, knowing that if he did his master would lose control. He wasn’t allowed, not until the task was finished. He woke the Street Demon with lips around his cock, tongue playing with the round piercing at the tip. When Edward coolly asked him if he could tie him to a chair and ride his cock, he’d eagerly agreed._

_Edward remembered fulfilling his promise and then asking the Demon very nicely for some information. He wouldn’t give it. Edward had lifted himself off his lap, the Demon’s cock slipping free and his come spilling down from between his cheeks. Then he’d asked him again—much less nicely—and the information was given to him. He’d left the Demon tied in the tub. He could dispose of him later. He needed him alive for now, in case he was lying. The fight with the Street Demons was a blur, but Edward knew he wasn’t there alone, he knew he’d reported to someone. Yet, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember a face. All he remembered was a voice, confident that what it spoke would come to pass._

_‘Penguin is going to pay. They all are.’_

_“Fuck, you look so good taking cock,” Tank said, and Edward snapped back into the moment._

While the sex that followed had been mind-blowing, Edward had no time to dwell on the fact that Tank had fucked him so hard his vision had literally whited out. No, no time to dwell on that, or the fact that he’d been unable to limp into the bathroom until a solid ten minutes had passed following Tank’s climax inside of him. It _was_ worth noting that he now knew where he had some lube available, should the occasion arise. Yet all these facts paled in comparison to what else his memories had revealed.

Try as he might to concentrate on remembering who’d helped him kill Vasquez, he couldn’t. Nor could he remember the person who had threatened to make Penguin pay. No, as much as he wanted to remember anything else, it was the connection to Oswald that continued to capture his full attention and focus.

(It always would.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought, and if you're interested in hearing the rest of this story.


	2. Confronting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward Nygma seeks out an old frenemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is canon divergent as of 5x03. The Street Demons have yet to attack Oswald, and as a result, Penn did not lead his people to Haven. I'm also ignoring Bane entirely (because fuck that guy), so the person who is controlling Ed will differ from canon.

Edward pondered the conundrum he was presented with over the next day, refusing to even blink for too long lest he close his eyes and fall asleep. As he neared the end of his threshold he paced the span of the library incessantly, knowing that even a stiff-backed chair was a risk for making him comfortable enough to drift off.

“You have to sleep eventually,” Tank said, coming into the room with another pot of coffee. “And we’re almost out of this.”

“Thanks,” Edward bit out, knowing he sounded more annoyed than grateful. He couldn’t help it, he was so _tired_. Almost out of coffee. He didn’t even like coffee, but he’d run out of caffeine pills and no one on the street was dealing stimulants anymore. Not in this economy. It almost made him want to risk asking Barbara for a little something…

No, that was a bad idea. He’d sent the last of those pills to the bottom of the river and promised never to touch another one of them. And he wouldn’t. He sighed instead.

“I can’t risk going out there,” Edward explained, picking up the pot and drinking directly from it. The practice saved him the trouble of cleaning out his mugs. Though even the task of finding a mug and pouring the coffee into it sounded _exhausing_. Tank nodded in understanding but kept quiet, waiting for him to elaborate. Edward put down the pot and rubbed at his eyes, swaying. “I know if I sleep it will happen again. It does every time.”

“You’re not alone now,” Tank said, “I can babysit.” Edward rolled his eyes.

“We know that when I’m asleep, whoever takes over is dangerous. Are you sure you want to risk that?” Edward asked. Tank knew first hand what the seemingly quiet and dazed version of himself was capable of. His wounds still hadn’t entirely healed. 

“We’ll just take precautions,” Tank said. “Besides, it’s definitely my turn to tie _you_ up.” Edward blushed up to his ears and sputtered.

“Okay, but—but how will you know when it’s me who wakes up?” he countered, sipping from the pot again and burning his mouth. Oh crud, he always got clumsy when he was nervous. 

“We can have a safeword?” Tank suggested. Edward’s previously burning mouth went dry. Did Tank… _do_ that sort of thing? Because Edward had some things he wanted to try— 

No. No, he needed to focus.

“And what if the sleepwalker also knows whatever we pick?” Edward asked. Tank stepped up to him, crowding him back against the table. Edward looked up at him and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously in his throat. Tank struck an imposing figure like this. 

“No offense, but if you hadn’t tied me down, you wouldn’t have stood a chance against me. If I’m on my guard when I let you out of those chains—and you’re unarmed—I promise you, you won’t be getting out of here.” Tank’s voice is just deep enough and just confident enough to convince Edward that he can handle it.

“Fine, but I can be pretty tricky. Just keep me… occupied,” Edward advised. “If it does happen, I think that whatever it is ends when I fall back asleep again. It’s possible that the amount of time the control lasts may be limited somehow, which would explain why I end up falling asleep in weird places.”

“And how am I supposed to keep you occupied _and_ tire you out?” Tank asked, pressing him harder against the table and pinning Ed with his hips. Edward gasped and glanced up at him through his lashes, mirroring the smirk on Tank’s lips. He tilted his chin up, a challenge.

“Oh, I think you know how.”

***

The next time Edward woke up, he was once again chained to the bed. This time—before a premature celebration—Edward looked over at the couch. Tank was just sitting there, reading a book. Edward shuffled a bit on the bed, rolling his shoulders. Gosh, he felt amazing. He even felt… well rested?

“Tank,” he called, making the other man look up. “What happened?”

“Well you woke up, and I could tell it was the quiet you right away. I asked the safeword just to see, and he knew it. So that’s out,” Tank said, approaching the bed. So, Edward’s sleeping half knew everything he did. That was valuable information.

“Okay, and then what?” Edward said, pushing up onto his elbows and shifting his seat on the bed. He didn’t feel _sore_ —

“And then I massaged you until you fell asleep.” Edward’s thoughts came screeching to a halt. 

“You _massaged_ me?” Edward asked, eyes wide. He’d just been expecting Tank to… well, to fuck him.

“You were so easy,” Tank recalled, “I put you right back to sleep, even though you didn’t want to. You tried to find a way out, but once you realized you couldn’t trick me into unchaining you, you gave up.”

“Why didn’t you—I mean, not that it _matters_ —”

“It didn’t really seem right, you not knowing what would have happened in the morning and all,” Tank said, shrugging. Edward didn’t know why, but for some reason that made him very, very happy. “Plus, that guy seduced me, tricked me, and beat the crap out of me. It’s honestly kind of a turn off.”

“Well,” Edward said, putting a hand on Tank’s shoulder and pulling him down, “I only seduced you and beat the crap out of you.” Tank chuckled, pushing Edward’s hair out of his face. 

“Yeah, and you definitely turn me on,” Tank said, running his hand down Edward’s chest. He shivered.

“Well, since I’m already all tied up…” Edward felt Tank’s hand on his pants, undoing them.

“What’s your safeword?” he asked, pulling Edward’s cock free. Edward swallowed. 

***

They’d messed up, gotten too cocky. Edward had woken up in the Library, asleep on the floor next to his bed. Atop it was an empty suitcase that promised no answers. He’d found Tank handcuffed to a radiator a room over. His only lead was the message scrawled on his hand, smudged but legible as ‘Inmate #1215’. A message that had led him to the GCPD records room, to Lucius Fox, and to a crime whose solution had only left him with more questions than answers.

Edward spent the days after his revelation worrying himself sick, the guilt eating him alive. He hadn’t slept in seventy-three hours and counting. Tank was feeling the weight of the guilt as well. He’d allowed Edward to outsmart him, let him loose on Gotham, and look what had happened. Part of him wanted to turn himself in to Lucius Fox, to allow justice to be served on behalf of the hundreds of people that had died by his hand. But Edward was nothing if not a survivor, and while the guilt ate at him, he knew he was only a pawn. He had nothing to do with what was happening. It was his alter, or perhaps someone else was the mastermind and his alter was doing their bidding. Yet the more he considered it, the less sense it made. He was the Riddler, which meant it would have been Ed who killed all those people. If the thought made _him_ sick to his stomach, it would have been an unspeakable horror to Ed. No, someone was messing with him, someone was responsible. He was pushing himself to the brink attempting to find a solution but there was nothing he could _do_. No avenue he hadn’t explored. Well, save for one…

Edward had seen things sometimes, when he was so tired it felt like his brain was thawing again. Flashes. He didn’t know what the memory was from, but it was similar to the memories he’d recovered when the tenant of apartment number 1215 had hit him in the back of his head. It was Oswald and Oswald only, the same phrase every time: ‘I’ll fix you.’ Edward knew the memory was real, that it wasn’t a dream. And it certainly wasn’t a hallucination. He knew the difference. But the memory was a question, and only one person had the answer. This would be dangerous, especially knowing that it was likely Oswald controlling him, but he had no other leads. 

It was only a matter of time before he sought out Oswald, breaking into City Hall the hard way. And if he happened to change into a fresh new suit before doing so, it was entirely unrelated. The vents in the building were at least as old as Arkham’s, but they definitely smelled better. It would be safer to assume that Oswald was his enemy, at least to begin with. There was no telling what his motivations were. It seemed just as out of character for Oswald to have ordered the massacre of so many innocents as it did for Ed to have done it. But he couldn’t know for sure that it _wasn’t_ Oswald. Not until he asked. At the end of the day, someone was messing with him, and Oswald was the usual suspect. Not only that, but he had the memories to back up the theory, even if it didn’t make sense given what he knew about Oswald’s character. 

(Even if deep down, he didn’t _want_ it to be true.)

And yet, all signs pointed to Oswald being the culprit. He wouldn’t put it past him to have purposefully left clues that would throw Edward off his trail. Or maybe he’d just interpreted things wrong, been too sure about who he _thought_ Oswald was. Ultimately, Edward had no idea who he could trust, so he trusted no one. That was why he’d brought a gun, and why that gun was currently pointed at Oswald’s face. 

Well, the gun wasn’t exactly _loaded_ (he had no ammunition), but Oswald didn’t know that. Now, if Edward was being honest, this confrontation was becoming a bit more… _emotional_ than he would have liked.

“What did you do to me, Oswald?” Edward asked, the empty gun shaking in his hand. He was so _tired_ , but it was too great a risk to rest, not when it could mean another tragedy. 

“What are you talking about?” Oswald asked, trying to move away.

“Oh please,” Edward sneered. He was playing dumb. Edward had seen him, looming above with his sinister promise, a smirk on his lips. “You did something to me. You… you are the reason that I killed those people.”

He couldn’t help it when his voice broke, overwhelmed by the callousness of the attack on Haven, the attack that _Oswald_ had ordered. _Why_. “How _could_ you? You have made me into some murderous puppet! For weeks, I’ve been waking up in strange places not knowing how I got there or what I did, driving myself mad. Thinking I had gone mad. And now I know that it was all your doing.” He tried to steady himself, took a deep breath.

“Of everything that you have put me through, this… this is the most cruel,” Edward finished, waiting for Oswald to come clean.

“Ed,” Oswald began. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I did not _make_ you do anything.”

“Then what is ‘I’ll fix you’?” Edward questioned, stepping closer. “What did that mean?”

He tugged Oswald closer, gun pressed threateningly close, “You didn’t fix me. You _broke_ me.”

“W-w-wait,” Oswald stuttered, “No. I said that to you the night the bridges blew.”

“You think I wouldn’t remember?” Edward asked, snarling and pushing him away. Now he was just _lying_ about something that had _never_ happened. Edward hadn’t seen him that night, he’d been—

He’d been....

Where had he been?

“No, Ed, I saved your life, that’s it!” Oswald insisted.

“What are you talking about?” Edward asked, horrified to find that his memory was failing him yet _again_. This was something he should have been able to remember, before it had all started—

Or… had it started that night?

“You had been stabbed, I paid Hugo Strange to save your life.” Oswald snapped his fingers, pointing at Edward. “I bet he did something to you when he was patching you up.” Edward pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a question forming as he stared Oswald down.

“You paid Hugo Strange to save me?” Edward asked, feeling more lost than ever. But that wasn’t the question that really intrigued him, what he really cared about was... “Why?”

“What was I supposed to do, let you die? After Butch you were my only friend—”

“You shot Butch!” Edward exclaimed. How was this supposed to make him _trust_ Oswald?

“ _Which is why I needed you!_ ” Oswald screamed, turning and slamming his hands on a nearby table. There was a long silence in which Edward didn’t know what to say, waiting for Oswald to answer _why_.

“Edward Nygma,” Oswald said, turning and approaching him again. Edward lifted the gun. “If I wanted you to suffer, I would never do it in some backhanded way. If you and I are ever at odds again, you will know without a doubt that I—” At that Oswald pressed his chest into the gun, coming dangerously close. Close, so that Edward could _feel_ how his words rang true, deep in his gut. “—am your enemy. I promise you that. As a _friend_.” 

Maybe it was the way his voice broke, the grimace of barely contained emotion as he said it.

(Maybe he was just relieved that Oswald wasn’t the monster he feared he was.)

Regardless, Edward believed him. He broke away, gun clattering uselessly. 

“What a mess,” he muttered, glancing up at him. “I might have killed you, Oswald.”

After all this… he almost felt like he owed the man a promise in return. A promise to be upfront about any future enmity. Oswald had been fairly clear that as of now they were _not_ enemies, that he was… a _friend_. At the very least, he could agree to the truce Oswald was offering. Edward left the gun by his side as he finished the thought, stepping closer to Oswald.

“And if that day comes, I swear to you, I will stare you in the eye as I stab you in the heart.” It called to mind the notions of stabbing Oswald in the back he’d once entertained. Even after he’d been betrayed by Oswald, the idea had felt… _wrong._ Maybe it was a little too morbidly poetic, but in any case, he’d made his meaning clear. Just as Oswald was promising to be upfront about any future clashes, so was he. 

“Look on the bright side,” Oswald replied, trying to hide a smile at Edward’s response. Good, he understood. He usually did. “If Hugo Strange did do something to you, it means that you are not responsible for Haven either. Does anyone else know?”

“Just one person,” Edward said. 

“Tell me who it is,” Oswald said, slipping into business mode as he approached the phone on his desk. “I’ll make sure they never breathe a word of this.”

“That won’t be—” 

“It is necessary,” Oswald said, waving him off as he interrupted him. Edward silently fumed. “If the people ever found out, they’d demand that you pay in blood. I wasn’t there when it happened, but everyone else who’s been left behind—they aren’t exactly in a forgiving mood. They won’t care that it wasn’t _really_ you.” Edward fidgeted with the gun in his hand. He didn’t know who’d been lost, and it wasn’t really his _fault_ , but… he was sorry. Gosh, he was so tired. They were both quiet for several long moments. 

“Tell me who it is that knows,” Oswald coaxed again, more gentle this time than his earlier demands and assumptions. “I’ll take care of it.” Edward shook his head. It was almost amusing, in a way.

“You don’t have to worry about him,” Edward said. “He won’t say a word.”

“If you’re sure,” Oswald said, looking like he might do it anyways. 

“I’m serious, Oswald. I care about him. He’s off-limits.” Oswald seemed to sober at this.

“Well, don’t go doing something stupid like turning yourself in,” he groused. 

“Why do you care?” Edward asked. 

“I told you, I like you better alive.” Oswald shrugged, his face giving nothing away. Edward frowned. Oswald wasn’t usually like this, he was so much more expressive. It unsettled him. 

“Why didn’t you want me to know you’d saved me?” Edward asked, putting the safety on the gun. He wasn’t quite willing to give up his bluff yet, just in case. 

“I didn’t want you thinking I’d done it to manipulate you, or so I could hold something over you.” He chuckled darkly. “Not that it did any good, apparently.” 

Oswald sat down, wincing mildly. Edward noted a light bruise on his left cheek, turning green and yellow with age. He’d been getting into fights as well… that was unusual. Or maybe the injury had occurred during the blast. He’d have to ask. “When Strange told me you were going to wake up, I had you brought to the public library. It’s close enough that I could be sure you were safe so long as my territory was safe, and far enough that we wouldn’t run into each other.”

Now that, that he did remember. He had woken in the library, disoriented but dressed in a newly starched white shirt and what remained of his suit. Oswald had no way of knowing that, not unless he’d put him there. Unless he knew, and he’d been watching. He had to be telling the truth, or at least part of it. 

Now they could talk. 

Oswald was convincing. Convincing enough that Edward willingly agreed to relay what information he had, though it wasn’t much. Mostly, he told Oswald about his sleepwalking, and the refusal of his alter to appear. Despite the fact that the other man had named his _dog_ after him (Edward was convinced it was solely to _annoy_ him), he was surprisingly amiable towards Edward. Consequently, he found that it was all too easy to lower his defenses around Oswald. It wasn’t that he felt safe around him… No, Edward doubted he could ever feel _safe_ around Oswald again. Edward knew from past experiences that underestimating Oswald could quickly turn fatal; but within minutes he caught himself letting his guard down. They’d been overly familiar once, and any semblance of that relationship was likely to lead to Edward’s guard slipping. He couldn’t let that happen around Oswald, not again. Even if they were… _friends_ at the moment. 

Oswald was careful not to touch him as they rearranged themselves inside his office, and for that he was grateful. Anything to keep his distance. Edward scratched the dog behind the ears and sat, perfunctorily reporting everything he knew about his blackouts and his theories as to who may have been behind them. It was almost like being Oswald’s Chief of Staff again, delivering a summary of the daily news and goings-on. Oswald sat patiently and listened to everything, only interrupting to call the dog to his side and pet him as he pondered the information Edward had given him. 

“And what exactly is your relationship with… _Tank_?” Oswald asked, doing his best to seem uninterested, like he simply wanted clarification. Edward smiled to himself, quickly concealing it from Oswald. How predictable. After all this time, Oswald was still preoccupied with whomever it was that held Edward’s attention. While he had some affection for the man, Oswald didn’t have much to worry about in that regard. His relationship with Tank was physical and little more. Not that Oswald had any right to know those details. Edward decided to leave him guessing, knowing that Oswald would show his opinion one way or another. 

“It’s… casual. Though I’m not sure how it’s any of your business.” Oswald’s face reddened, scrunching up in barely contained anger. 

“Good,” he said, looking like it physically pained him to say so. Edward tried not to laugh. Oswald had tipped his hand so easily, and so soon! He’d fatally interfered in Edward’s relationship with Isabella, he’d had plenty to say about his relationship with Lee, and now he was trying to figure out what exactly was going on between himself and Tank. Well, Edward would give him as little to go off as possible. Maybe that would remind him it wasn’t his place to meddle in Edward’s… _affairs._ Of course, while they were on the subject—

“Earlier, you said you had Strange fix us _both._ Did you mean Lee?” Edward asked.

“I did,” Oswald said. Edward wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

“Why?” Edward asked. 

“Does it matter?” Oswald replied, his focus entirely on the dog. 

“No,” he lied. That question would have to wait. “Where is she now?”

“Do you really want to know?” Oswald asked, scratching behind the animal’s ears.

“No,” Edward answered, and that was the end of that. He crossed one leg over the other and steepled his fingers. Oswald had given him information on Strange. To repay him, he could give Oswald a warning in return. Put them on equal footing. It could make the exchange of information and favours more routine in the future if he began establishing the basis for a mutually beneficial... _friendship_ , now _._ That, and he needed a favour. Oswald still hadn’t told him where Strange was, and he might need his help drawing the doctor out from wherever he was currently holed up. “Now, regarding the intel I gathered that concerns you… Tank is fairly certain that the Street Demons are going to come after you in retaliation, and so do I. It’s possible that the entire incident was a setup.”

“Of course it’s a setup!” Oswald yelled, throwing his hands up and then gripping the edge of his desk. “I wouldn’t have left any of them alive to come after me if I’d done it!”

“I know that, and Tank knows that,” Edward pointed out, “but the Street Demons don’t know that. Not yet. You need to find out who else was hit and do damage control. After that, the next step would be to seek out the architect and prevent any further plots against you.” The person who’d made Edward carry out the hit was also targeting Oswald. He didn’t know why they were out to get Oswald, but if Edward could convince him that going after the mastermind was a good idea, he’d have his help in finding out who was controlling him, and in taking them down. He just needed to convince Oswald that it was worth getting on board, and the best way to do that was to appeal to his instinct for self-preservation. 

“And why is this any of _your_ business?” Oswald asked, lips pressed into a thin line. “How do I know _you're_ not the one setting me up, when you _admitted_ to killing Vasquez and spray-painting _my_ name on the crime scene.” Edward had made him defensive. Clearly there was something about maintaining control of his empire that was a sore spot at the moment. To top it off, Oswald had as little faith in their recently agreed-upon relationship status as he did. But perhaps he could help with that. Perhaps he could show Oswald that his trust was not misplaced. At least not for the time being. No, Edward had a fairly good reason _not_ to betray Oswald at present. He just had to… to _say_ it. 

“Because I—” Edward paused, cleared his throat, and swallowed his pride. “I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting to the good stuff. As you can probably tell, I used the dialogue from their confrontation. However, I decided to ignore the part where Oswald was going to betray Ed, because in my canon he's head over heels for him and would never dream of it. Please drop a comment if you like the direction this is finally going.


	3. Negotiating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Oswald lay down the groundwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe me when I say Edward enjoys everything Tank does to him later on.

“Help with what?”

“Like I told you earlier, I’m blacking out. You’re the one that—” _broke me_ , “saved me, and I—”

“You need to find Strange,” Oswald finished. “And you think the same person that’s controlling you is the one plotting against me?”

“I know they are,” Edward said. “They’re trying to start a war in Gotham, and they’re using me to do it. Fighting each other won’t help anyone.”

“I agree,” Oswald said. “What I’m doing is keeping this city afloat, a war would tear it apart.”

“I think that’s what they want,” Edward said, tapping his fingers on Oswald’s desk. “Our interests are aligned, Oswald. I don’t want to be caught in the middle of a war, and I need Strange. You’re the target, or one of them at least, and you can find Strange for me. If I help you with the gangs, will you make him fix me? For _real_ this time?”

Oswald looked down at his desk, his jaw tense. For several long moments, he didn’t move. Edward shifted awkwardly on his feet, waiting. Oswald looked up at him and then opened a small drawer, pulling out his phone.

“I’ll contact Strange for you,” Oswald said, pressing the keypad with his thumb. 

“But what about the Street Demons?” Edward asked, eyes wide. 

“I can handle them,” Oswald sternly replied, eyes resolute on the phone. Edward came around the desk, wrapping his hand around Oswald’s on the phone and stopping him from completing the call.

“You’ll want my help,” Edward said. “I have a man on the inside.”

“I don’t,” Oswald said, though he didn’t pull his hand away. Edward fumbled for a reason to stay, telling himself it was only because he wanted to know why Oswald was suddenly being so generous with him. 

“I owe you my life,” Edward insisted, swallowing around the truth of it as it formed a lump in his throat. He licked his lips, eyes darting from Oswald’s face to where their hands were still clasped. He told himself it was just a ploy to ascertain Oswald’s motivations, but it didn’t feel like an act at all. “Let me repay you.”

“No, you were right,” Oswald said, putting a hand on Edward’s wrist and pulling it off the phone. “I broke you, Edward. I messed with your head. First Freeze, then Arkham, and now Strange. I’m sorry. You’ve suffered because of me… and not just upstairs.” There’s silence between them as they both remember the moment they’d first begun to fall apart, the moment Edward had gotten a phone call one shining morning during their breakfast together to come down to the GCPD. The moment Oswald had first lied to him and then kept lying to him as Edward first spiraled into grief, and then into anger. Edward tried to blink the memories away; it was too painful to look back on what they’d lost.

“I can’t fix everything I’ve done in the past,” Oswald said, letting go of Edward’s wrist and placing a hand on his arm, “but please allow me to fix what I can now.”

Edward wasn’t sure how to process this twist. Oswald had leverage over him. Edward had offered his services in exchange for his help and now… now Oswald was giving it freely? He was just going to _help_ him, for no reason? In all his time knowing Oswald, there was always a reason. Oswald helped people when he needed something from them. That, or if he considered the person a friend—

No. Oswald didn’t truly care for him, despite his pretty words earlier. Edward only had to remember his drooling pet bulldog to know what Oswald truly thought of him. It was a mockery, and a simple way to show that he was easily replaced. Oswald only wanted loyalty and love, he hadn’t cared about Edward at all beyond that. Anyone could have filled his shoes, offered him those things, and Oswald would have claimed to love them too. They both knew that.

But that still left Edward with his question. Why was Oswald helping him for nothing in return? Did he want a favor? There wasn’t a chance it was out of the goodness of his heart… and yet he was making it seem that way. Edward needed to know. He needed to find out. And to do that, he needed more time.

“The gangs are the priority,” Edward said, pulling away from Oswald’s touch. “We can’t waste any time, or we might all be doomed. I’ll help you placate them and foil whatever is going on behind the scenes, then you can contact Strange.”

“If that’s what you want,” Oswald said, fingers balling into a fist as he removed his hand from Edward’s arm. He closed the phone and placed it back in the drawer. “But my offer still stands, if you change your mind.”

Edward nodded, and wondered what Oswald’s offer really meant.

***

“So, this is Penguin,” Tank said, eyeing him up and down. “Gotta say, I thought you’d be shorter.”

Oswald glared, and Edward put a hand on his shoulder, steadying. “Oswald, this is Tank. Tank, meet Oswald.”

“A pleasure,” Oswald said between clenched teeth. Tank ignored him, his focus on Edward as he approached and put his hands on Edward’s hips. Edward moved his hand from Oswald’s shoulder and put both on Tank’s, smiling expectantly up at him.

“I like this outfit you’ve got on,” Tank said, pulling him in closer. He leaned in to stage whisper into Edward’s ear, glancing aside at Oswald as he did. “Can’t wait to take it off you.”

Edward froze, casting a worried glance at Oswald as his own face reddened. He didn’t appear to be reacting, at least not in any way that would endanger their current mission. Edward punched Tank in the stomach and pushed him away, quietly hissing, “Cut it out!”

Tank smirked, unaffected by the hit, and gestured at them to follow. “Base camp’s right this way. If they were smart they’d move, but we might still catch someone.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Edward asked, walking alongside him. There was still a chance the gang members assumed Tank had ratted them out, and then his life would be forfeit. 

“If the boys are suspicious, I’ll just tell them the truth: I was busy banging a hot twink for the past week,” he said, bringing one hand down hard on Edward’s ass. He yelped and punched Tank in the arm, shaking his hand out afterwards. 

Oswald didn’t say a word during their exchange, pulling a pistol from his side and flicking off the safety. “Are you certain I shouldn’t bring any guards?”

“Trust me,” Edward said, realizing how hard that must be only after he’d said it. “They’re reasonable, almost strangely so. They’ll listen if your argument makes sense. Besides, you have us.” Oswald didn’t look convinced, and Edward couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t trust Oswald in this situation either. 

Tank pushed open the door, smiling. “Hey guys.”

Edward could hear a commotion within as Tank crossed the threshold. “Tank?”

“You’re alive?”

“We thought Penguin got you.”

“I didn’t,” Oswald said, choosing that moment to walk through the door. Edward followed him, just in time to see their astonished faces. Oswald always did know when to make an entrance. He’d admired that about him, once. ( _He still did_.)

In an instant, the gang’s weapons were all drawn on him. Oswald raised his hands, smiling politely. 

“I come in peace.”

“The hell you do!” one of the men challenged, stepping forward. “You killed our boys, killed Vasquez!”

“If I was the one that did it,” Oswald explained, “I wouldn’t have left any of you alive, I wouldn’t have put my name on it, and I certainly wouldn’t have come here—without my guards—to clear this misunderstanding up. Someone framed me.” The man paused, then lowered his weapon. 

“Huh. That makes sense.” The other Street Demons grumbled in agreement and lowered their weapons. Oswald turned to look back at Edward, confusion written all over his features.

“So… are we good now? That’s it?” Edward shrugged and turned to Tank. 

“We’re cool?” Edward asked, putting his hands in his pants pockets. Tank turned to address the Street Demons.

“We’re all square with Penguin?” Tank asked them. They shrugged and turned to one another, gathering into a small huddle as they conferred.

“Yeah, we’re good,” the seemingly new leader told Tank, holstering his gun.

“They’re cool,” Tank told Edward, winking at him. 

“That’s it,” Edward told Oswald, who was currently wearing a slack-jawed expression. “I told you, they’re unreasonably reasonable.” 

***

Edward had returned to City Hall with Oswald and Tank, taking up Oswald’s offer to have a large dinner of steak and spend the night. Tank was easily sold on the idea: steak sounded far more appealing than the spam they’d been eating. Mr. Penn greeted them at the door in that usual stuttering way of his.

“M-Mr. Cobblepot, I didn’t know you’d be bringing gue—” his jaw went slack upon seeing Edward, and he honestly couldn't blame him. He was probably the last person the assistant would expect Oswald to have over for dinner. 

“Steak for three,” Oswald ordered. “And bring plenty of booze. I imagine we’ll be talking for some time.”

“Talking?” Penn asked, eyeing Edward and Tank nervously. Edward crossed his arms. Was their getting along really that shocking? 

Well… he supposed it _was_ , actually.

“I mean, of course,” Penn corrected. At this he turned to Edward and Tank, “How would you like them?” 

“Medium,” Edward said. He imagined Penn already knew that Oswald liked his blue. Edward wasn’t a fan of cooking a steak so little, but he hadn’t minded doing it for Oswald. It was certainly less work for him when they’d been together. A few seconds on either side and Oswald considered his cut done enough. Edward had actually been afraid of poisoning him the first time he’d made the dish to Oswald’s preferences. 

“Really well done,” Tank told him. “Burn it.” Edward saw Oswald make a face. Surprisingly, he kept any comments to himself. Oswald had always complained one might as well eat jerky if they were going to burn away all the flavour of the steak and make it so tough. It was often a point of judgement toward his partners when they all went out for business dinners, and Edward had always happily indulged in the many various insults they came up with on those car rides home, snickering together like teenagers. 

The meal had been nice, amiable even. Oswald inhaled his rare steak in minutes while Edward dissected his, cutting away the fat with precision. He could tell Oswald was disgusted by the way Tank preferred his: well done and then slathered in ketchup. Yet he kept his comments to himself, mostly asking Edward about how he was doing, if he had enough food at the Library, where he’d been waking up. It was almost like he cared about Edward’s wellbeing, but that was just ridiculous. He watched Edward pick apart his steak, only eating about two-thirds of what had been put on his plate to start with. Oswald had cleared his plate and given the scraps to the dog. Edward felt a little bad about giving the dog all that fat, but it seemed to enjoy it. 

The conversation thankfully strayed into humorous storytelling. Edward launched into the tale of his encounter with Lucius Fox, explaining in detail how he’d snuck into the GCPD and outwitted the dimwitted officers just by wearing a blanket. Oswald snorted and sipped his wine while Tank smiled fondly at him, and he was struck by the fact that he seemed to have captured his audience without having to do any actual capturing at all. 

“Foxy found me in the records room and proposed a trade. I wasn’t exactly keeping snacks on me, and if I’d had any bullets I would have just shot him and taken the file—”

“Wait a second,” Tank interrupted. “You don’t have any ammo?” 

“No? We live in a library, not an arsenal,” Edward said, rolling his eyes. 

“You mean to tell me the gun you threatened me with wasn’t even loaded?” Oswald said, putting his wine down. “Typical.”

“He did the same thing to me,” Tank told Oswald, pointing at Edward. “When you say typical, do you mean this is a regular thing?”

“Well, the last time wasn’t exactly his choice,” Oswald explained. “It’s a long story.”

“You two really have _some_ history, huh?” Tank said, eyeing them both a little _too_ knowingly. 

“You could say that,” Edward muttered. “Besides, I prefer non-lethal firearms. Much less unwieldy—”

They’d stayed up a little longer, had some wine, and Tank had retired early to make use of one of Oswald’s showers. The two of them had made their way onto a comfortable loveseat, Oswald joking that if word got out about Edward being the Haven bomber, he had a perfectly good submarine for the two of them to escape in. Edward wondered if he was serious. 

He would almost categorize the time he’d spent with Oswald tonight as… pleasant. Something had been bothering him, though. A gap in Oswald’s story. 

“Oswald?” Edward asked softly. “I’ve been wondering, how did you know I was hurt the night the bridges blew?” Oswald grabbed his wrist, fingers circling around the heart monitor Edward wore. He unbuttoned his own cuff, revealing that it’s twin was around his own wrist.

“Did you assume I took it off after our little spat over the bank heist?” Oswald asked. He almost looked… hurt. “I thought it was understood that the promise we made went both ways.”

***

_Edward finished wiping the blood from his face and neck and removed the cotton he’s stuck inside his cheeks, peeling the material away from the newly-clotted wounds in his gums. He rummaged around in his desk drawer and pulled out a black band, the twin to the monitor Ed had been planning to give to Lee. If Grundy had a pulse, Ed probably would have gotten him one too. He’d been attached to their trio, too soft. But Oswald… Oswald was someone worth keeping tabs on. He was Edward’s to antagonize._

_“Here,” Edward said, approaching Oswald as he poked around Edward’s room in the club, not so subtly staring at the many pill bottles he had scattered around. Was that a hint of guilt he detected? Impossible. Edward took Oswald’s hand and pushed up the damp sleeve of his purple coat, latching the band around his wrist._

_“What’s this?” Oswald asked, turing his hand and examining it._

_“It’s a heart monitor. If your heart rate reaches dangerous levels, high or low, I’ll be alerted.” Oswald raised his brows, his silence prompting further explanation._

_“If anyone, aside from myself, were to kill you,” Edward explained, “I’d have to waste a lot of time enacting my revenge on your behalf. Better to take preventative action and try to circumvent that unfortunate outcome entirely.”_

_“That’s an odd way of saying you’d try to save me,” Oswald deadpanned._

_“They’re linked,” Edward said, ignoring Oswald’s odd phrasing. He thought he’d been quite clear that it wasn’t about saving him, it was about making sure no one else killed him. “I thought perhaps you’d feel the same way.”_

_“So I’ll be able to find you?” Oswald asked, eyeing it with more appreciation._

_“The GPS feature will only activate in an emergency,” Edward explained. “Not at all times.”_

_“And why give this to me?” Oswald asked, staring up at him._

_“You said you trust me,” Edward replied. “Well, trust goes both ways. I know you’d do the same for me.”_

***

“If anyone killed you,” Oswald echoed, “I’d have to waste a lot of time getting revenge.”

“It wasn’t exactly a promise,” Edward said. In his mind, it was more of an oath. If they were to die by someone’s hand, it would only be each other’s. And if that weren’t possible, they would at the very least avenge each other. It had been a nice understanding, one Edward had considered quite the indulgence of sentimentality at the time. After all, they’d both just proven they could rely on one another. “So you noticed my heart rate spike and then slow.”

Oswald nodded, “Then it was only a matter of getting to you. Which wasn’t exactly easy. They city was in chaos—” Oswald swallowed and glanced away. 

“I wasn’t sure you would make it.”

“You saved Lee as well,” Edward said. “Would it surprise you to know that she was the one who stabbed me?” Oswald’s eyes widened, and then his lips thinned into a line.

“She’s lucky I didn’t know that,” Oswald said, and Edward could see rage bubbling just beneath the surface, simmering. “I only saved her for your sake. Figured you wouldn’t forgive me if I let her die, you two being _in love_ and all.” Oswald’s tone was mocking, but Edward couldn’t find it in himself to take offense. They’d been having such a nice time, after all. Oswald seemed to realize he might have misspoken, looking slightly panicked as his mouth gaped momentarily like a fish. He’d overstepped a bit in his anger. Edward spoke before he could attempt to apologize or explain, he didn’t need to. In fact, he couldn’t find it in himself to care much about his romance with Lee. It hadn’t been anything as deep or lasting as he’d hoped it would be, and it likely never would have been. He was at peace with it, knowing that. 

“Well, I appreciate the thought,” Edward said, bumping his shoulder into Oswald’s to let him no there was no harm done. Oswald smiled and sipped his wine, once again relaxed. 

“Who knows where she is now,” Oswald said. “Penn told me she’d snuck away somehow. I was surprised she left you behind, but I suppose it makes sense given what you’ve just told me.” Edward hummed. Thinking of Lee made him contemplate their plans to leave the city. And in that vein of thought, he recalled Oswald’s flippant comments from earlier about escaping Gotham together in some submarine he had. How _ridiculous_. 

“You were joking, right? About escaping in a submarine if the GCPD manages to figure out I was the one who blew up Haven?” Edward asked, tentatively grinning. It had certainly _sounded_ like a joke, but Edward wanted to confirm it.

“Of course I wasn’t. I really do have a submarine,” Oswald replied. “Now you and I are the only ones who know about it.” No, that _wasn’t_ what he’d meant. 

“I mean, you wouldn’t actually leave Gotham?” Edward asked, chuckling in an attempt to keep things lighthearted. Oswald’s brows scrunched together in confusion. 

“Well, no, I love this city. I won’t ever leave. Not if I can help it, or if there’s another way,” Oswald explained. Edward nodded, relieved that he’d been correct and yet… a little disappointed all the same. He took a gulp of wine to hide whatever expression it was he was currently making— 

“But I would for you.”—and nearly spat it out again. His head snapped up, staring at Oswald over the lip of the glass like a deer in the headlights. Oswald wasn’t even looking at him, gazing into the middle distance like he was contemplating some great philosophical dilemma. “If that was what it took to keep you safe.”

He had to be misunderstanding this. There was no way in _hell_ Oswald would give up Gotham—and all that encompassed—for _him_.

“I mean, obviously you wouldn’t really leave,” Edward chuckled, grasping at straws. “I mean, surely you could just send someone else to pilot—”

“No, I’m certain I’m currently the only person in Gotham who knows how to operate this particular submersible,” Oswald evenly explained, entirely unaware of Edward’s current crisis. “I’d have to go with you.”

He turned, and at Edward’s look of utter devastation he winked at him and said, “Don’t worry, I’ve had a lot of free time to practice. We’d be able to leave Gotham and be perfectly safe if it ever came to that. Trust me.”

That was the problem. He did. Edward downed the rest of his wine and poured the last of the bottle into the empty glass so he wouldn’t have to think about the sacrifice Oswald had just offered him with hardly any thought at all. Maybe it was just a trick, and Oswald had no intentions of ever following through on such a plan... He drank another half of his glass in response to the thought and mustered the courage to turn the conversation down a different route.

“So… submarines. How’d that happen?” Oswald grinned maniacally and launched into a riveting story that lead to a much safer conversation between the pair. It kept Edward’s mind off the events of the day, the sincerity Oswald had maintained through it all. He was far too tired to put any of it into order now. Perhaps a little too tired for conversation as well, because before long he found himself nodding off, and he needed Tank to keep him from wandering anywhere if he did. He was pushing about 80 hours without sleep. Oswald clearly noticed his half-lidded eyes and listlessness, a little drunk on top of his exhaustion. 

“Let me show you to your room,” Oswald said, and Edward almost pointed out that Tank had found his own just fine before stopping himself. He didn’t want this… cordiality between them to end. He took Oswald’s proffered hand to help himself up and forgot to let go, letting Oswald lead him to his room. 

“I hope it’s alright for you both,” Oswald said. Edward wondered what he meant by that, but then he continued, “Thank you for your help earlier, there could have been a serious problem in my territory if you hadn’t alerted me to the need to intervene.” Edward was still wondering how to respond—did he tell him it wasn’t a problem, did he thank Oswald for dinner? Did he say lie and say it was only to save his own skin so he could crush this _thing_ before they started all over again—and then the door opened before he could. 

“Hey baby,” Tank said, stripped down to his boxers. He must have been waiting up for Edward. He looked down at their entwined fingers and smirked, eyes darting between the two of them. “Are you joining us, Penguin?”

“N-no,” Oswald said, pulling his hand from Edward’s and stepping away. He stuttered out a farewell just before fleeing down the hall. “You two have a good—erm, that is—sleep well.”

“Good night, Oswald,” Edward called after him, yelping when Tank grabbed him around the waist and pulled him in. 

“I still need to get those clothes off like I promised,” Tank said, loud enough that it echoed down the hall to where Oswald was beginning to ascend the stairs to his suite. 

“Shut up,” Edward muttered, hitting him in the shoulder and pushing him back into their room. He turned, slammed the door shut behind them and huffed, shoulders rising and falling with it. Tank had been trying to antagonize Oswald all day. Not directly, but through Edward. He’d given Tank most of the story about their past, but he didn’t at all seemed deterred by Oswald’s jealous streak. Oswald had literally murdered one of Edward’s past lovers, and yet here he was stirring the pot. Edward wasn’t sure what annoyed him more: Tank’s behavior, or Oswald’s lack of reaction. 

“What’s the matter?” Tank said, wrapping his arms around Edward and stepping up behind him. He began to loosen Edward’s tie, fingers gently finding and undoing the first button beneath it. “Not in the mood?” Edward leaned back against him and hummed, thinking about the events of the night. Oswald had done his best to refuse Edward’s help but help him in return. He’d invited them both to partake in dinner, and treated Tank with an alarming amount of respect despite not knowing him at all. He’d made that ridiculous statement that if necessary they could _leave Gotham together_... then he’d brought Edward to his room, a room Oswald had apparently decided he’d want to _share_ with Tank—

Tank turned him around, brushing hair from his face. “If you just want to take a shower and go to bed, the water pressure here is almost better than sex, believe me. You won’t be missing out on much.”

Edward hardly heard him, taking in the room’s interior and realizing that Oswald had put them both in a room with only one, king-sized bed. It suddenly occurred to him that this was as close as he’d ever get to an explicit confirmation from Oswald that he could maturely handle Edward being in a relationship with someone who wasn’t him. It was practically his blessing. Edward almost wasn’t sure if he believed it, that Oswald was going to actually let him be without any snarky remarks, any attempts on his lover’s life—

“Or maybe you just want _him_ to keep you occupied,” Tank said, wiggling his brows suggestively. 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Edward said, rolling his eyes. “Oswald certainly doesn’t want me anymore.” Edward was careful not to mention his feelings on the matter, because he wasn’t exactly sure he _didn’t_ want that. He only knew that Oswald wasn’t interested. If he had been, it would have been completely out of the question for him to put them in a room together with only one massive bed. Oswald loved selfishly. If he still wanted Edward, he would never be capable of sharing him. Definitely not like _this_.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.” Tank said, continuing to unbutton Edward’s shirt.

“What are you saying?” Edward asked, stilling his hands.

“I’m saying that he’s still _deeply_ in love with you,” Tank answered, leaning in to whisper the next part into Edward’s ear, “and he would happily be _balls deep_ in you the second you asked.” 

Edward shrieked in outrage and slapped him across the face, pushing Tank away. Tank pulled him back in and scooped him up, carrying his thrashing form to the bed and tossing him in. Despite his talk about it, Tank wasted no time undressing him. Edward spent several minutes over his knee, whimpering empty, snot-filled apologies while Tank’s bare hand connected with his ass over and over again, turning his skin red. He begged Tank to fuck him just so he’d stop and closed his eyes when the other man called him a slut and complied.

It was another shock when Tank opened the drawer, finding lube and condoms that neither of them had brought. Edward’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, wondering what Oswald could have been _thinking_ leaving those there for them—

Then Tank was pushing him face down into the mattress. He spread Edward’s cheeks, his hard length pressing between them and then forcing its way inside. Edward couldn’t think about it any more if he’d wanted, his whole body humming with pleasure. It felt so good to be stretched thin around a thick cock. To be held down, having his ass used like this was all he was made for. Tank slapped his cheek again, making him cry out pathetically as he tried to cover himself with his hands and squirm away. It didn’t last, Tank seizing his wrists in one hand and pinning them to the small of his back as he was slammed into and hit again and again. All he could do was sob and beg him to stop, _please_ , tears of pain and ecstasy continuously rolling down the straight line of his nose. Yet despite his tear-filled whimpering, the only word that could truly put an end to it all never reached his lips. When Tank finally let him go and put him on his back, Edward pulled at his hair ruthlessly in retaliation, fingers clawing up his spine as he rocked his hips to meet every hard thrust, desperate for it. Tank only fucked into him harder, laughing at his attempts to be mean. He backhanded him across one sharp cheekbone before wrapping both hands around his throat. Edward came when Tank pressed down dizzyingly hard and called him _perfect_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know your thoughts on the progress Edward and Oswald are making. I also hate the theory that Oswald only went to see Ed because he'd just shot Butch and was feeling sorry for himself, so I came up with another reason Oswald knew Ed was in trouble that also incorporates his nifty lil heart monitor. I like the idea of them agreeing to always back each other up when facing other enemies after 4x15, and this facilitates that.


	4. Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward tries to understand the nature of his alters with Oswald's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still laying the groundwork for Ed to get his shit together so nygmob can get together? You bet your ass I am. He has a lot of shit to get together alright?

Edward groaned and rolled over, cuddling into the warm arm wrapped around him. He was certainly feeling the effects of last night, but he’d needed something rough to get his mind off yesterday’s events. Oswald had been remarkably composed. Gone was the man who threw a tantrum whenever he didn’t get what he wanted. Of course, that would mean that Edward was assuming Oswald wanted him. He wasn’t. Oswald obviously didn’t. Maybe yesterday had been Oswald’s way of showing it… of showing him that his love for Edward was long gone or entirely snuffed out…

It was too early to think about this, especially when he hadn’t even opened his eyes. Edward nuzzled into the soft pillow below and whined, trying to get Tank’s attention. The arm around him withdrew. Tank was probably going to get up and shower now. Edward had made somewhat of a mess of him, judging by the blood he’d noticed under his nails before drifting off to sleep.

“Babe?” Edward called sleepily. “Will you bring me some water when you’re done? Gosh, my ass is _so_ sore.”

“S-sure,” said a voice that was decidedly _not_ Tank. Edward shot up in bed, fully awake in an instant. 

“Oswald?” he said, eyes widening as he took in the sight of Oswald dressed in his sleep clothes and lounging on the bed next to him. The mattress was wide, and there was at least two feet of space between them at the moment, but Edward was taken aback by their proximity nonetheless. They hadn’t shared a bed in… years now. Oswald had been _holding him_. _Spooning him_. Looking down, he saw that he was wrapped in a soft robe, a set of pajamas… a quick flex of his toes revealed that he even had socks on. Yet he was certain that he and Tank had fallen asleep naked and entwined last night. That meant he’d somehow gone from being nude with Tank, to fully clothed with Oswald. 

How.

“Nothing happened,” Oswald said, which really only made him think that _something_ had happened. 

“Why am I here?” Edward asked, pulling the blankets up despite hardly needing to cover his modesty. 

“You were sleepwalking last night. Tank got you to shower and put you in the pajamas I’d left in the room, then he brought you here. He said he was tired and wanted to sleep, and that I could deal with you.” Edward was a little offended. Tank had _one_ job, and it was making sure that he didn’t end up on the loose. And how had he gotten him to shower and dress? Had he locked him in the bathroom?

“What did I do?” Edward asked, taking in his surroundings. Oswald’s room was plainer than his quarters at the Van Dahl estate, though still impressive. The mattress was _so_ soft, and Edward almost felt he was climbing out of an impression of his body as he moved into a sitting position facing Oswald. 

“You told me you needed to go, and you wouldn’t answer my questions any other way. Edward, it was like you were someone else entirely,” Oswald said. “You tried to fight me, but you were slow. Like you were still in a dream. It was like you didn’t really know where you were or who I was, just that you had something to do and I wasn’t it.”

“You mean I didn’t recognize you?” Edward asked. That was strange. For the most part, he knew everything Ed was doing. Riddler had been able to hide things from Ed, but… no, it didn’t make sense. He still didn’t know exactly _who_ he was right now. Tank couldn’t tell the difference because he’d never met him before, but—

Oh, he felt like such an idiot. Oswald was _right here_.

“You did, but you didn’t act like you really knew me… personally. You didn’t act like yourself,” Oswald explained. 

“And who exactly am I right now?” Edward asked, leaning in. 

“You’re… _you_ ,” Oswald said, gesturing up and down at him. 

“I meant _which_ me,” Edward said, quickly growing impatient. Oswald’s head tilted. 

“Well, you don’t seem like Riddler,” Oswald said, considering him. No, but he _was_. He was the Riddler, and up until he’d met Tank, he’d thought that Ed was lurking around in his subconscious and playing stupid games with him while he slept. So _where was he hiding_? 

“But if you _were_ Ed, past experience has shown that I can help the Riddler… out.” Edward took a breath.

“Okay. Try it.” 

“What?”

“Maybe I _am_ Ed and I’ve just been kidding myself. Call him,” Edward explained, sitting criss-cross on the bed and facing him.

“I won’t do that to you,” Oswald said, shaking his head. 

“Why not?” Edward demanded. He hadn’t had a problem with it _before_. 

“You—Edward, the last time he was trying to take over you _begged_ me not to let him… and I ignored you. I did it anyway.” Oswald exhaled, then squared his shoulders. “I did it to help myself. It wasn’t right.”

Edward knew that this was probably the beginning of an apology of some sort, yet he couldn’t help but be furious at Oswald. Now—when he was asking Oswald for his _help_ —now he decided to develop all kinds of _principles._

“Let me see if I understand what you’re saying,” Edward began, trying to keep the anger in his voice under control. “It wasn’t right to ignore me when I was begging you _not_ to call Riddler… but it’s just fine for you to ignore what I want when I’m _asking_ for it?”

He let that sink in a moment, the silence deafening. “You’re still only helping yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Oswald said. “And it’s not the same thing! I don’t want to put you through that again.”

“Because you’d feel guilty, like you do now,” Edward said. “So instead of feeling guilty for helping me, you’re choosing to make yourself feel better by _not_ helping me.”

“Don’t twist it like that!” Oswald said, pointing at him. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you.” Edward smacked his hand away from his face, livid. 

“When are you going to learn that it’s not up to you to decide that for me!” He yanked back the covers and climbed out of bed, storming to the door. He was so angry he wanted to scream. How _dare_ he? How dare he say that to him again after the last time, after Isabella— 

“God _Dammit_ , Ed! Don’t you get it? I’m doing my best not to hurt you again!” Oswald screamed. 

Edward paused before going through with his plan to stomp out and slam the door, realizing now how childish of him it would seem. He needed to stop being so emotional about this. He and Oswald were trying to start over, trying to move forward. It was unlikely he’d meant to invoke that moment in Edward’s memory, Oswald tied to a car and claiming he’d hurt Edward out of some twisted form of _love_. Oswald was a master manipulator, but perhaps he _was_ being straightforward at the moment. Maybe he really did just want to protect him. They had an agreement, and if it was to succeed, he’d have to trust that Oswald was being honest with him about his intentions and where they stood. (Even if the idea of trusting him felt suicidal at best.)

He took a breath to collect himself before speaking again, his back still turned to Oswald. “You’re the only one that knows me, Oswald. You’re the only one that can tell the difference between us. And you’re the only one that’s ever been able to make me switch.”

“Why?” Oswald asked, and Edward wasn’t sure what he meant. Why did Edward want him to do it, or why did he have the power to?

“I don’t know why,” Edward answered. “But up until now you’ve only done it to help yourself. Now I’m asking you to do it and help _me_. Please.” Oswald looked away, and Edward sighed. He turned and opened the door, ready to leave and end this pointless argument— 

“Come here.”

Edward shut it, and walked back to the bed.

“Maybe it won’t do anything,” Edward said, trying to assure Oswald that he was making the right decision. “I just want you to _try_.”

“I’m going to,” Oswald said, waving his hand dismissively. “I still don’t like it, but I’ll do it for you.”

“Thank you,” Edward said, climbing onto the bed and sitting on his knees across from Oswald. Oswald frowned, then mirrored him. 

“Only because you said ‘please’,” Oswald joked, through the smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “Alright, come out, Riddler.”

Edward didn’t feel a thing. “Maybe try a little harder?”

Oswald cupped his face, moving in closer. “If you’re in there… I know you want to be free. This is your chance. I need you here, Riddler.”

Edward’s nose was a little itchy, come to think of it. “Perhaps more aggression is key?” 

Oswald looked unsure but nodded. He grabbed Edward by the lapels of his robe and slammed him back into the wood of the headboard, dazing him momentarily. He leaned in, teeth barred as he hissed into Edward’s face, “This is the last time I’m going to say it.”

Oswald jerked him forward by the front of his robe and then pushed him back into the bedframe once again. Edward vaguely realized he was holding onto Oswald’s shoulders, just as stunned he had been in the Asylum despite knowing it was coming this time. Back then, Oswald had pushed him over a table with such force his only choice had been to brace his arms behind himself or end up lying on his back across it. Despite Oswald’s appearance, Edward _never_ forgot how strong he was. He knew very well that the only times he’d gotten the upper hand over Oswald were when he’d taken him by surprise. Now, with Oswald breathing hot into his face—his own visage contorted in rage—that tiny flame of fear he’d never quite been able to douse was making itself known again. Edward was certain that this was a fear anyone felt when they were in the clutches of the Penguin.

“You _will_ show yourself to me. I helped you out of your cage, and now I’m helping you again. Not because I care, but because you _owe_ me. I saved you, despite the fact that you ignored my warning about that woman and nearly let her be your demise. I should have let you die just to prove my point, and yet...” With one hand fisted in the material over Edward’s chest, Oswald used the other to grip his chin, forcing Edward’s head up. Oswald’s voice was quiet but edged with something Edward could only describe as deadly, “I need you. Show yourself, Riddler.”

Edward inhaled, closed his eyes, and waited to be shoved into the back of his own mind.

And waited.

He opened his eyes, and Oswald’s were soft again, pleading. “Ed?”

He wanted to cry.

“I don’t know,” Edward answered, choking on it. He hated this, hated that _he didn’t know_. “It doesn’t make _sense_! What _happened_ to me, what did you _do_ to me?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Oswald said. “But Strange might have. I can take you to him whenever you want.”

Edward nodded, pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Why didn’t it _work_?”

Oswald sighed, “I don’t know, Ed. I don’t know why it worked the first time. Maybe because he was already at the surface, and he just needed a little help? Or maybe you’re already the Riddler.” Edward scoffed.

“Oh, please. You said it yourself. I hardly seem like him.”

“I said you just seem like _you_. Like you were…. Before.” Edward took his hands away from his face and looked up at him, eyes flicking over Oswald’s expression. He couldn’t discern what he was feeling, but he seemed… wistful?

“When?”

“Back when we lived at the manor.”

“I wasn’t the Riddler then,” Edward said, teeth gritted. It was like Oswald didn’t pay any attention to him at all, or maybe he was being _purposefully_ obtuse. Regardless, Oswald wasn’t making sense. Either he already was the Riddler, and that’s why Oswald couldn’t call him, or he wasn’t. He couldn’t be like he was before he became the Riddler _and_ be the Riddler at the same time.. 

“But you weren’t exactly a _Saint_ ,” Oswald argued. “And you weren’t seeing things then, just like you aren’t now. You were just _you_.”

Edward had no response. At first, he’d thought that killing Kristen had permanently fused his personalities into one. He’d still hallucinated once, when he was with Isabella, but that wasn’t his alter. Becoming the Riddler after that had been a conscious choice, a decision to change his behavior and be someone else. While he’d seen Oswald, there was no connection there either. That had been a product of drugs and severe sleep deprivation. 

No, his alter hadn’t appeared at all until Lee finally revealed there had been nothing wrong with him. That his stupidity was merely a psychological block of his own making. That was when his altered had appeared to try and raise hell while Edward refused to play and tried to keep his head down. Lee had liked the Edward Nygma he was before, the Ed that was her friend. Riddler had _despised_ her for it, for making Edward want to go back to normalcy yet again. For inspiring Edward to try and keep that side of him completely shut out. That’s when he’d split again. When he’d tried to live as normally as he could while actively tamping down on his… other aspirations.

He’d been repressed, and as always, Riddler had wanted more. He found it somewhat interesting that instead of rejecting romance and killing Lee as he’d attempted to before, Riddler had been drawn into her game and inevitably faced the consequences. He was supposed to be smarter than that, colder than that. Perhaps he’d been flattered, believing that Lee had finally see the light in preferring him over his former self. And now… now Edward was just trying to survive. There wasn’t any conflict within him, because there was no reason for it. Riddler had no reason to emerge, to split off again and have some fun. Not with the way things were in Gotham. And he couldn’t exactly prove that he was _currently_ Riddler, either. Not when there’d been no sight of Ed, or proof that he was taking a turn while he slept. All this time he’d thought an alter was manifesting again, but— 

‘ _You were just_ you.’

He _was_ whole. He _wasn’t_ broken. It was just him in here. He was in control. 

Well. Not entirely. 

But this was a good thing. This meant that he didn’t have to fight a war on two fronts, because there _wasn’t_ any fight happening in his head. The real fight was out here, and someone _else_ was to blame. It wasn’t Oswald. It might be Strange. If anything, Strange was a good place to start, and Oswald was going to help him. In fact, he already had. With his input, Edward had solved the puzzle that had been plaguing him since he first awoke in the library. 

“That’s it!” Edward said, laughing to himself. He looked up at Oswald, wondering how long it was he’d been thinking. Oswald hadn’t interrupted him, so it couldn’t have been more that a few seconds. “I _am_ just me.”

“Right,” Oswald said, nodding in agreement and then shaking his head in confusion. “No, sorry. I think I missed something.”

“No, you’ve solved it, Oswald!” Edward said, pulling him into a brief hug in his excitement. He moved back, pushing Oswald away by the shoulders to look at him again. “This whole time I thought I’d have to worry about sabotaging myself, but I’m just me. Not Riddler or Ed. Me. Now that I’ve sorted that out, I can focus on the real problem.”

“You mean figuring out who’s controlling you?” Oswald asked, catching on.

“That, and why. What are they trying to do?” Edward asked. 

“I know why I’d like to know,” Oswald said, “but why do you care? It’s not like you have an investment in keeping Gotham from completely falling apart.” Edward almost didn’t understand the question. 

“I need to know,” he said, tilting his head. 

“No,” Oswald said. “You only need to know who it is so you can stop them, why do their motivations matter?”

“Because… because.” Edward said. The question was infinitely stupid. “I just do. Wouldn’t you be curious?”

“A little,” Oswald said. “But I’d probably just kill them and be done with it. No one controls me, I don’t care why.”

Edward cared. He cared a lot. It was important that he know everything, that there were no secrets in this city he couldn’t uncover. No mystery left unsolved. And the motive was as much a part of that mystery as anything. Oswald was a pragmatist, he didn’t understand. Knowledge for knowledge’s sake was reason enough on its own for Edward. 

“Well, I care why. I think I have the right to know the reason behind it all, seeing as they’ve been using me to accomplish whatever it is they’re planning.” Oswald nodded slightly in concession. 

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said. “Well, you have my support in stopping them.” Of course he did. They’d targeted Oswald as well. 

“I want to go to Strange,” Edward said. “Today.”

“I’ll take you to him.”

***

Edward headed back to the room, ready to get dressed and seek out Strange. According to Oswald, he was a few blocks away and heavily guarded. They’d chatting about it over breakfast together, as it appeared Tank wasn’t awake yet. He was probably catching up on some sleep, seeing as Edward usually occupied a few extra hours of his night. Edward didn’t knock, not wanting to wake the other man if it could be helped. He and Oswald could go on their own and let him rest. 

He felt like he hadn’t been in such a good mood for ages. In fact, he was still smiling in the aftermath of his conversation with Oswald. To say he was happy to hear that Tabitha had expired would be an understatement. It was remarkable how well they could get on together during a truce, despite all that had happened between them. It almost had Edward rethinking their animosity. He’d certainly proved by now that Riddler wasn’t contingent on Oswald’s demise. In fact, his ability to emerge had actually been aided by Oswald’s presence. Of course, there was no need to think of Riddler as a separate entity now. Not when they’d worked out this morning that Riddler was now very much a part of him. It was likely he would remain that way, so long as Edward ceased attempting to reverse his metamorphosis for the sake of normality. 

_And like the butterfly, I've come to realize that I cannot be a caterpillar once again_.

He’d accepted that once before. The tricky part would be keeping the temptation of a normal life from luring him in and convincing him to tear off his own wings again in an attempt to go back. Hopefully, he’d learned that lesson for the last time. Edward tiptoed over to the desk where his clothing was laid out, and to his surprise, Tank was awake. He was also sporting a smug grin. 

“So, how was Penguin in bed?” Edward scowled. 

“Was that your plan?” Edward said. “I thought you liked me.”

“Oh, I _love_ fucking you,” Tank said. “But I’m not blind. You two are still into each other, and we don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“Well, nothing happened,” Edward said. “So much for that.”

“That’s what you think,” Tank said, rolling onto his back and putting his hands behind his head. Alright, now Edward was curious.

“What do you mean?” Edward asked, climbing onto the bed. Tank smirked as Edward moved to straddle him, arms crossed angrily over his chest. 

“I think something happened between you,” Tank said. 

“And what makes you say that?” Edward asked, keeping his expression neutral.

“That dopey grin you had when you came in here.” Oh. Edward felt his face heating and looked away, shifting his seat on Tank’s lap. Tank grabbed his jaw, turning Edward’s face towards him. “Look at that, that’s what I mean. You two had a _connection_.”

Edward pushed his hand away. “The only _connection_ between us is that someone is using _me_ to mess with _him_.”

“Sure,” Tank said, still smug. Gosh, he was infuriating. 

“Get dressed,” Edward said, climbing off his lap. “We’re going to see Strange.”

“What, no good morning kiss?” Tank teased. Edward paused, a sudden realization coming over him despite the fact that Tank was only joking. They’d never kissed. For all the times they’d slept together, they’d never once kissed. 

“Not with your morning breath,” Edward said, retreating into the bathroom. Why hadn’t they kissed? 

There wasn’t time to ponder it. Edward wasn’t particularly invested in the question regardless. Tank stuck with him because he provided Tank with safety that being in a gang couldn’t. In exchange, Tank kept him from running around Gotham in his sleep. They also just happened to sleep together. It wasn’t complicated. There weren’t any real feelings aside from his occasional fondness for Tank’s direct and reasonable manner (though he couldn’t deny his attraction to Tank’s physique either). 

No, there wasn’t really time to wonder why they’d both seemed to decide that kissing was off-limits. _Romance_ wasn’t what he needed to be focusing on. He needed to keep his head clear, or Strange would make a mess of him. The Doctor was good at playing mind games and Edward had only barely sorted himself out now. With Oswald’s help, of course. Sometimes it really did feel like Oswald knew him better than he knew himself. He’d always been the only one who truly _understood_ —

Edward shook his head and began to change into his suit. There wasn’t time to dwell on the past. He went to the mirror to straighten his tie and grinned. He hoped Strange would be difficult about giving up the information; it would be more fun that way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope my theory about the nature of Edward's personality is understandable, or that you at least enjoyed the character interactions this chapter. We're laying the foundation for something lasting. I hope the journey there only makes the payoff that's to come even sweeter.


End file.
